


Dragon-Born Incarnate

by NeoQwerty



Series: Bendings Of The Light [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (don't worry the Nerevarine's turned on his essential flag), Gen, Immortal Nerevarine, Male Dunmer Dovahkiin | Dragonborn - Freeform, Temporary Main Character Death, The Nerevarine Is The Dragonborn, This Is Just The Skyrim Intro, male dunmer Nerevarine - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoQwerty/pseuds/NeoQwerty
Summary: A broken mer runs away from the weight of his fate as the coveted chesspiece of all sundry gods that fight for power.Destiny, however, doesn't get the memo that he's tired and he wants to rest. It drags him, in another carriage, bound and weaponless and in rags, into the next conflict that demands a Hero.
Series: Bendings Of The Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963096
Kudos: 1





	Dragon-Born Incarnate

He's running, and he makes no secrets of it. He flees into the Velothi mountains as the world behind him trembles in ash and fire, and becomes like a ghost. He lives like a hermit, barely survives, up here in this frozen mountain cave no one can access without levitation magic or wings. He tries his best to become forgotten, to have every last trace of Revaryl's existence point to the Nerevarine's death.

Prophecy fulfilled, hero's role ended, and so he died in the Red Year, just as mortal in the end as anyone else. The gaunt, fire-eyed hermit up here on the mountain has nothing and wants nothing to do with the Hortator of Vvardenfell.

_(Except for a ring that serves as a lifeline to another world, one that doesn't care for the fate of Nirn-Current so long as it doesn't break, where he's left things he can't bear to abandon.)_

He only leaves his cave when loud, storm-like _Shouts_ wake him up from a fitful nightmare. He thought that the Nords lost the art of Shouting a long time ago, so that anomaly is enough to have him creep on unsteady, half-frozen feet to see what the noise is about. He finds a skirmish in the gorge below, but before he can move back away, an archer spots him, fires an arrow that bites into his shoulder, and the shock of pain sends his sluggish, run-ragged body falling down the sharp cliff, loose-limbed in a momentary death-or-faint. He comes back to as his hands are wrenched together, wrists tied with rope in the fashion typical for Imperial troops to restrain their prisoners with, and then none-too gently shoved toward a carriage.

The similarities of this and of his last carriage ride, from prison to prison ship, drags a hoarse, raspy laugh from him that gets some angry mutters from the other prisoners, all of them Nords in various clothes, from a noble to a peasant and several guardsmen. Their gazes prickle on his skin, unpleasant after so many years doing his best to avoid the existence of others, and he curls in on himself, raises shoulders and lowers his head defensively to stare down at his bound wrists.

He refuses to talk, lets the Nords dismiss him as they begin discussing where they're being brought. Somewhere called Helgen, for an execution. Just his luck, to get tangled into some petty war of succession for the Nords' High King, _again_ , and he cackles again quietly when one of the Nords defends his Jarl's murder of the last High King as getting rid of weakness.

When the officer responsible for the executions decides to have him beheaded with the rest of the rabble, even though he's convinced that 'Nereval' is nowhere on that list, there's a small flare of irritation toward her, and he knows the Nord who carries out her orders caught the fire that kindled in his eyes for a second. The Nord discreetly shakes his head, to discourage him from going out in a blaze of glory, and as they're let out in a row, he catches the man move toward another officer, point at him, only to be dismissed. Then he offers an apologetic wince when he notices the Dunmer is tracking him with his eyes. Odd.

The Nords cut out the priestess of Arkay from her prayer and rites, full of foolhardy bravado and eager to die and go to Sovngarde, and the other Nords seem to puff up and preen at the display. His false name is called next, and he moves with stiff limbs, struggling against cold, death, and neglect. He doesn't really feel anything, and given how unnerved everyone is, it probably shows, as he goes to his knees without anyone's foot on his back, rests his head on the coppery-death-smelling chopping block, and closes his eyes, calmly.

A far-off challenge roars in the sky, and he hears confusion. Demands to know what's coming, before a second roar sounds out, compells him to open his eyes. He catches sight of black wings scything through the air, far above, and his ears twitch and slant downward, pulling the rest of his face into a bared-teeth snarl. A rasp grinds out of his throat in a sound that should have been a growl, and the executioner raises his axe.

A black dragon falls out of the sky and onto the tower just behind the executioner, sending the man stumbling to his knees, the axe hitting stone, and for a moment, "Nereval" stares at the dragon, and feels something pull taut and tight and cinch. He hears a booming thunderclap, understands the distinct sounds within the Shout _(Vild, Toor, Lok)_ , and watches as the sky bleeds red, and rocks engulfed with fire begin raining from the heavens.

He rolls off the block as the shockwave of that scream bubbles toward the chopping block, rattles through him and makes him itch for the Akaviri dragonblade he'd left in Fyr's clockwork manor. All around him, people are knocked to the ground by the Shout's wake, and he rolls his eyes as he shakes it off, even with a body as abused and neglected as his.

"Hey, you, dark elf! Over here! Let's escape while they're busy getting killed!"

He gives a dark glare at the Nord who tells him this, and instead stands up straighter, sweeps his burning stare over the battlefield, tracking the dragon, and charges off after it, compelled by some unknown force.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is pretty much "What if, instead of getting roped into Legends' main and Clockwork City storylines, my Nerevarine went through Skyrim".
> 
> One-shot, so don't expect a sequel to it.


End file.
